Curse of the Peverells
by Sansara
Summary: Icarus Peverell, son of Ignotus Peverell, died in the great purge of the dark ages. In desperation, his father cursed his own family line. Should there ever be a son born from the union with a muggleborn, his soul would be sacrificed to let his own son live once more. Centuries past, the long line of necromancers turned into a long line of warders, curse long forgotten.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

**Prologue**

"_I promise you this is not the end. You will live once more."_

"_I'm scared, father. I don't want to die."_

"_You won't. It will be like going to sleep. A very long sleep. But eventually you will wake up and have a new life. A life where you can fulfil your dreams, find a woman to marry, found a family and have children. A life where you can live. The life you should have had."_

"_But it will be without you. Without mother. Without my brother and my uncles. I will be alone."_

"_Yes, you will. But this is the only way for you to live. Without us." A pause. "You will have a new family then. Many generations past us. A new mother, a new father, maybe new siblings."_

"_I don't want them. I want you."_

"_I'm afraid this is the only chance I can offer you. A new life in a different time." Another pause. "It is time. We cannot wait longer. Farewell, my son. You won't be forgotten."_

"_Farewell, father. Tell mother and my brother that..."_

"_I know. I will."_

With that the voice of his father vanished from his mind. He was alone once more. It would not be long anymore before he met death. Strangely his fear had gone, being replaced by a strange calmness.

This was his end. He knew it. Whatever his father claimed you could not cheat death. Even as a necromancer death remained their master. Still there was a glimmer of hope left in him. A will to live. Buried beneath all his resignation. But still there. Still burning.

He wanted to have a life. Wanted to become a necromancer, join their guild like his father and uncles had done. He wanted... a great many things. Foremost he wanted his life. But if he could not have it he would take the next best thing. Another life in a different time. Generations past his own. Living in a family of his own line but still so far removed from his current one.

It was a chance his father said. Well, he would take it. If nothing else he still had an opportunity to found his own family.

But his mother would not be there to tell him he had chosen a good bride, would not be there to smile at her first grandchild. His father would not congratulate him for his first son, for continuing the family line, their traditions. No, they would not be there. Another family would be there. Stealing their place. Sharing these moments with him which his own parents would never be able to see. It would break his mother's heart he knew it. But then again, it probably was already broken. After all, he was as good as dead. Whether he died here or his father managed to save him he would not see his mother ever again.

The pain started suddenly. It was a soul-wrenching pain. He convulsed on the bare stone floor trying with all his might not to scream, not to give himself away to his captors. It felt like molten lava was surging through his veins, burning every nerve ending he had, leaving only pain behind. Then the tugging on his soul started like some invisible force tried to separate his soul from his body. He screamed. He heard his captors running to his cell but it was too late. With a final pull his soul left his body and his world turned dark.


	2. Chapter I

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

**Chapter I**

**Curse of a Bloodline**

"_I promise you this not the end. You will live once more."_

The words of his father were echoing in his mind when consciousness returned slowly. It felt like he had slept for a long time. _"Centuries probably"_, he thought mirthlessly. Strangely, his new body and its magic core didn't appear to be so different from his old. Certainly changed to a degree due to a different core but the family magic was all the same. Welcoming and warm and utterly dark.

Upon his probing it rose up as in greeting him like a very old friend. It seemed curious and almost… slumbering? Like it had been sleeping for a long time and just now been awoken. That was weird and concerning. What had his relatives been doing all the time?

He opened his eyes to look around and immediately wished he hadn't. Where did his descendant live? In a dump? It certainly seemed so. Nowhere where rich furniture, old paintings or any modicum of taste. He could barely see any furniture which wasn't broken or otherwise useless.

He had not expected this. Surely his descendants weren't this poor, had fallen this far from grace? Even a halfblood of his line should have lived accordingly to his family's stance.

So why was he here? Had they turned blood traitor?

Another look around revealed that nothing magically where to be seen. He frowned. Was this a muggle household? What did he do there?

He shuddered. This was far off his expectations. Sure, he knew he had to adapt to his new surroundings to a degree. After all it was centuries later. But this? To this degree? This was asking to much. He would never lower himself to coexist with muggles. Mud could never be allowed to mingle with clay.

He concentrated. He knew the curse his father used. It was an old one. From the time of the old Babylonian sorcerers before their empire fell. It was nearly forgotten in his time which meant centuries later probably nobody could remember it. All the better for him, he assumed.

The memories of the person whose body he had stolen should still be there. Their minds, his and that of the unknown boy, had merged. His soul had pushed the boy's one out, sending it to the afterlife in the process. Still his memories should be here. Telling him about the time, he now lived in. About his friends and foes, about his family and why he found himself in such deplorable conditions.

He closed his eyes and turned to the place in his mind he created when he was young and his father started to teach him Occlumency. A smile graced his lips. It was like coming home. Slowly, he started to wade through the memories of the unknown boy. No, not longer unknown. His name was Harry James Potter, son of James Charlus Potter, last paterfamilias of the Potter family, and son of the mudblood Lily Evans.

He concentrated. She was the reason he was born so late in this life. Her sacrifice had protected the boy from the curse but now… now something changed? The dark lord was reborn using his blood thus destroying the protection the boy's mother had granted him with her death.

How interesting. A new dark lord! Dared he to wonder…? Had their time come anew? A time where dark wizards flourished and magic was openly celebrated? Where the old way was once more followed?

He went further through the memories. Something was amiss. His family aligned against the dark lord? He wrinkled his forehead. The boy-who-lived, they called him. An icon of the light. Supporter of one Albus Dumbledore, lord of the light. The boy was supporting the light?!

That was unexpected and deeply worrisome. Another reason why his kind should not mingle with muggleborns. They extinguished the old tradition and the ancient magicks. Coming blaring in with their prejudices and ideas how things should be run; wanting to modernize something so ancient, so steepled in tradition that modernizing could only mean losing a part of it.

Or all of it when he correctly understood how things developed. No wonder the dark lord seemed so insistent, so prone to violence over protecting the way of old. They needed him badly. He would need to see about realigning his family and making amends with the dark lord and former allies. It seemed the boy had managed to alienate most of them. What a mess it all was.

Yet, he could barely glean anything on the state of their allegiances, the politics of house Potter or even their estate. The boy seemed wholly uneducated about family matters. He wasn't even fully aware that he would be Lord Potter someday, paterfamilias of one of the truly old families. Did nobody tell him?

No, it seemed… the boy grew up with muggles unknowing of traditions and the ways of the old families. He was barely knowledgeable about magic! What did he get taught? It seemed he went to Hogwarts, the school he himself had been to. But not much seemed to have gotten in the boy's head from his education there.

He felt for the boy's magic, his magic now. It was uncontrolled. Lacking the finesse of honing it through practice and relentless pursuit of greatness. The only thing the boys appeared to have pursued was Quidditch.

He pursed his lips. That was unexpected and disappointing. Even an orphaned halfblood should have risen to something. Should have felt greater awe for magic. Should have been prouder of his family. Instead he had fallen in with blood traitors and mudbloods. A Weasley whose family became blood traitors some time ago and the mudblood Granger who ingrained everything he despised. Her incessant need to prove she was better in magic than her more magically talented peers by spouting of textbooks was frankly disgusting.

He smirked cruelly. But it seemed her casting was lacking. No doubt she lacked the strength and power that came with centuries of purifying the magic in their blood. She would have no family magic either. Just herself without the support of a house that had grown over generations founded by a powerful wizard in the past.

Turning to his own family magic again it was still as dormant and asleep as before. He poked at it again and received the same warm greeting as before. To be in that state, it would need to have been left alone for a long while. Longer than this boy's life. He gleaned from the memories that he had never used the magic. But had his father not used it either?

He really needed to find out more about his family.

Hours later he opened his eyes again with a furious cry. What had they done? What had the boy done? To his family? To his line? Abandoning the principles of his family, consorting with mudbloods, dragging the good name of his family through the mud with his despicable unmannered behaviour, paying no mind to his allegiances, not honouring their centuries' old traditions, not … not doing anything a proper Peverell should do. Or Potter.

It seemed the long line of necromancer came to an end and a new family was born out of them. A family of warders and spellcrafters. A good choice.

He smiled wryly. A safe choice. After the purges probably many of the old dark families had to find a new field to excel in to blend in with the masses of light wizards and their mudblood companions.

Not that he would know. The boy seemed sorely lacking any family history or any history for that matter. He gained nothing on the developments of the last centuries, nothing on the current political situation just some rudimentary facts.

The boy, Harry Potter, seemed to be the figurehead of the light propaganda. Not that he had known that. So concerned to be "just Harry" he had never realized how much his headmaster had manipulated him. How much he had cost his own family while...

Furious again, he balled his fists. How could he have neglected his family's estate to such a degree? How could he …

He calmed down again. Fury lead to nothing. He had to calm down and analyse the situation he found himself in. Find a way to save his family's stance among the other noble families, undo years of damage by a wilful uneducated child no better than a mudblood...

Furious again, he took deep calming breathes and sighed audibly. He had a lot of work to do. The boy knew next to nothing. Nothing on the state of their estate, nothing about their allegiances and alliances, just nothing...

He would need to go to Gringotts to rectify this. If he remembered correctly the boy's birthday, now his birthday, it was on the 31st of July. He would turn fifteen -or did already turn fifteen. Today was his birthday if remembered correctly. So he was old enough to be emancipated and to claim his Lord title.

He would need to read up on current laws and financial aspects, too, since the boy seemed to have never bothered to learn anything of value to lead their family as their patriarch. After this, he had to examine the political situation he found himself in. Clearly everybody thought the boy, now himself, was light. This was cause to worry. He was close to being called a bloodtraitor if this continued. The only saving grace was that the boy had acted as a minor. While this often was an indicator how said heir would lead the family later on it was nothing by which the family could be judged by.

He furrowed his brow. Dumbledore could become a problem. So far he had shown an unhealthy interest in the boy. This was not acceptable. It had to stop.

Turning to the only window in the room to see the sun rise above the horizon and hopefully to calm down yet again he snarled in anger. There were bars before the glass. How dare that stupid muggle imprison a wizard? Did he not understand how inferior he was? How grateful he should be for having the honour of raising a wizarding child? A child of magic? Not any child at that, but an heir of an old and noble family?

They would pay for this. He remembered now. After the boy returned from his first year in Hogwarts he had found the bars on the window to make an escape impossible. To make sure he would not return to his school.

Icarus smiled maliciously. He remembered all the small and not so small things the family of the mudblood mother of the boy did to him. How they had pushed him around, treating him no better than a lowly houseelf.

This was another proof why mud should never be allowed to form clay. Soon they would learn what revenge really meant. They would suffer for their despicable behaviour. He would make sure of this.

His gaze fell on the Daily Prophet. There seemed to be quite a few editions. Enough to give him a first insight into the present magical society. He knew that the boy had not bothered to read them. He had just looked whether the resurrected dark lord had made headlines.

Stupid boy! As if such a formidable – if it was true what he had gleaned from the boy's memories – wizard would just throw all of his cards at once on the table. No, the play of politic was slow and manipulative most of the time. You waited for the right moment to strike. Only an idiot would rush head first into a situation. Clearly, the boy had been an idiot.

He walked over to the rickety chair in front of the even more than rickety desk and started to read the newspaper beginning with the oldest. What he read made his blood boil. How dare they? How dare they to slander his family name? An old and noble family? Had they lost so much prestige?

That rag had not sunken so low as to actually slander a minor but just barely. The jokes on his cost here and there were doing their job brilliantly. It might not be enough for a law suit. But it was certainly enough to ruin his reputation. This could not continue.

He had his work cut out for him.

First things first, he had to leave this hovel and find a new place to stay for the duration of the holidays.

With that thought in mind he got up and tried the door knob. Locked. Feeling the now familiar fury rise inside him he was on the verge of drawing his wand. But he was still a minor, not yet emancipated. He could not risk a confrontation with law enforcement in the current political climate. Thus wand magic was not possible. But wandless magic certainly was.

He grinned darkly. All the hours of exercising should finally pay off. It should be enough for this and the inferior muggles on the other side. He would teach them a lesson they would not forget so quickly.

Laughing to himself he unlocked the door wandlessly and eventually stepped into the hall. He heard snoring from the two bedrooms closeby. Oh yes, that should be fun.

He first walked into the room of his cousin, a snoring whale who looked more like a pig with a wig than anything else. He would curse him with misfortune. Bad luck would follow him wherever he went.

Raising his hand and putting it lightly on Dudley's forehead he murmured the old dark curse from a time where the Roman empire still ruled the world. Harsh guttural sounds left his mouth and he could feel the magic in the air. Old and powerful and long forgotten in this time. But not in his. He remembered and so did his family magic.

Finally waking up and rising like the swelling tide in him lending power to his curse that it might last a lifetime. Magic swirled dark and intoxicating. With the last syllable it sunk deep into Dudley's skin, into his very being, and the curse was completed.

Straightening, he looked one more time down on his now very unlucky cousin and then went to his aunt's and uncle's bedside. They, too, were still sleeping soundly. Not knowing of the hell that awaited them when waking.

Harry smirked. He knew what to curse them with. Raising his hands again, his magic came again to head his call far easier and quicker than before. It, too, delighted in the use of dark magicks. Forming the guttural sounds anew, he cursed Petunia with always speaking her mind unable to lie. All of her pettiness and jealousy would be brought to light showing what kind of person she really was. Harry wondered idly how long it would take for the neighbours to come to utterly abhor her.

Vernon he cursed with an even more violent temper. There would be no more hiding his aggressive character. Any restraint he ever had melted away under the dark magic. Probably not even Dudley would be save from his fists now.

Delighted, Harry left their room and went in search of his trunk. If he read his new memories right they should be locked under the stairs. Descending the stairs and unlocking the cupboard he found his things.

However, a brief search yielded nothing but books, clothes, notes and junk. No invisible cloak and no wand. Wrinkling his forehead he once more looked through the memories of the boy. He had removed them at some point. At the start of the summer holiday to… have them close… with a photo album of his late family… Hiding it under some loose floor planks.

Waiving his hand he summoned the items and stored them away in his trunk. Finally having collected everything of value to him in this house, he stepped outside and immediately stilled.

Despite the sun rising, the shadows were lengthening. He could feel his breath freeze in the air. Any happy thought he ever had deserted him. Turning his head right he saw two dementors at the street corner quickly approaching. With them ice and darkness came.

He shielded his mind and hesitated. What to do? Dementors were not a problem for a necromancer but he was still a minor and thus unable to do magic without getting a warning. Reaching for his wand he paused again. Somebody influential had obviously decided to spare the ministry some headache and get rid of him one way or the other. Either by receiving the kiss or getting expelled from the wizarding community. Both was unacceptable.

Harry sneered. Well, there was nothing what stopped him from fleeing. No law enforcement that had casted wards to prevent apparation or portkey travel. No family to protect. The muggles were not his concern.

Even better, if one of them got kissed, the ministry would be in a lot of trouble to explain itself and its lack of control. So maybe, he should escalate the situation a bit? But how? If the dementors came all the way out to Surrey they would come on pretty explicit orders. It was a long way from Azkaban and pretty close to London. So whoever sent them risked a lot.

Deciding to make that person regret that decision Harry called once upon his family magic. It rose and swelled inside him slowly filling the street with a dark mist undetectable by the trace and therefore the ministry.

This, this was true necromantic magic. Dark and utterly delicious. The dementors as dark creatures would feel emboldened and hungry. Hungry for souls. Drunk on the dark magic they might forget their orders if their target was not available. In lieu of that order, they would feast upon whoever else might cross their path in an attempt to satisfy their ravenous hunger.

It would be slaughter in Surrey. Long before anyone would be the wiser he and his magic would vanish without a trace leaving only soulless muggles and chaos behind. Let the ministry explain that.

Silently he apparated and appeared seemingly in the middle of nowhere. As far as the eye could see only dark forest and rolling hills. Following a short pathway up that appeared to end next to a huge boulder Harry stepped up and carefully drew blood from his left hand. Smearing it across the stone he intoned: "My name is Harry James Potter, heir of the Potter Family, heir of the Peverell Family. My ancestors hear me fore this is my blood right. I am the last of the Potters. I am the last of the Peverells. My ancestors see me fore this my blood right. I demand entrance to my ancestral home. I demand my birth right."

The boulder shuddered before him and sucked the blood in. Then as if a veil was lifted, the gates of Peverell Manor appeared suddenly before him.

Nostalgia hit him hard. This was his home, his family's home. It seemed just like yesterday that he had stepped through the gate and followed the pathway up right into the waiting arms of his family. But they were no more. The only thing that remained of his time was this manor. Everything else was just dust and shadows. Long gone before he had made his way back into the world of the living.

Breathing harshly through the nose he walked straight through the gate and the long way up to the house. This still was coming home.


	3. Chapter II

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

**Chapter II**

**Peverell Manor**

The house was in a state of utter disrepair. It had to have been some time since a Peverell or a Potter had lived here. Taking a few steps away from the main gate into the entrance hall Harry surveyed the damage. There was dust everywhere, the wallpaper seemed ratty and he could even spot some mold along the ceiling. And that was just at a first glance.

Despondent at what else he might discover he turned back towards the door intent on closing it only to have it slam close in his face. Wrinkling his forehead he softly spoke:

"Look, I'm sorry what happened to you. I don't know why you were abandoned by my family but I promise I'll rise you back to your former glory. I'll fix this - you."

The house seemed to acknowledge his words and was all of a sudden less hostile. Still cold and cutting but no longer enraged past reason.

Looking around, his face turned grim. He certainly had his work cut out for him. It would take at least a week, probably longer, to return his manor to its once glorious state. With his luck, the manor most likely would not allow him to buy the fabrics he needed but insist he do the work himself and actually weave the tapestries, carpets and curtains.

Sighing he decided to get started by looking through all the rooms and taking stock of everything. Turning left at the end of the hall he stepped into the kitchen. Here, too, everything was dusted and broken. The kitchen appliances were either rusted or long gone. Whatever preservation charms had been in place had failed a while ago. Even the floor had some chips and burn marks.

Blinking back tears, he remembered when he had sneaked into the kitchen in the dead of the night as a little boy in the search for sweets. Always the house-elves had discovered him and sent him back to back with a small treat. Sometimes he met his father in the halls and receive a stern talking to about proper decorum and rules being there to be followed.

But all of this was long since gone now. Centuries in the past whereas his future was here in this strange new world with its too bright magicks and this decrepit manor. Abandoned and left behind, this is how he felt while walking through his home.

Noting the desolate condition of most of the rooms and the lack of magic swirling in the air he felt as bereft as the house. Stroking over the banister and gliding his hand along the wallpapers made him even more aware of the mood of the manor.

It had been left for hundreds and hundreds of years now. No Peverell or Potter setting a foot in it in the last generations. It had turned angry and bitter about no longer harboring its family. Its magic which had build up since the first Peverell came to live here slowly fading. Its standing slipping. Now it was nothing more but a ruin. A testament to the fall of a dark family turning light. Leaving behind their tradition and home in order to fit in with the new trend.

However, magic that strong which had once saturated the building could never truly fade away. So while the preservation charms may have broken and the magicks went dormant it still retained its consciousness. It still waited for the return of its rightful owners. It now had waited for centuries.

He would need to pacify and charm, dust and repair until the house forgave him and felt appreciated again. Magical houses could be very moody if they felt undervalued. And right now, his felt neglected. Neglecting it even more would only serve to enrage it even further. An enraged magical house was dangerous.

His home had not been valued by his family in some time that much his tour through the house had shown him. Deciding that now was as good a time as any to begin the arduous process of repair he went back to the master bedroom. The room his parents had shared while alive. It would be his now since he became master of the manor.

Its state of ruin was even more obvious than most other rooms he had gone through. It felt empty without the furniture and paintings he knew his parents had decorated their bedroom with. Now it was completely stripped of anything. The walls and ceiling a dull gray spotted with mold and some undefinable brown stains. The floor was so dirty he left foot prints in it.

With a shudder he wiped his wand out and started cleaning. First he banished the dust and cobwebs. Next went the mold and stains on the wall. Frowning he realized the house would be of no help to him in its current state. It could or would not repair some of the damage itself.

It hurt to now that his childhood home he loved so much and which had loved him so much had now grown so sullen that he would need to offer a considerable effort to win it over.

Sighing again, he went up to the attic and started routing around through all the junk which had collected there. Finally, in one corner he located the paint and some paint brushes. Getting it out and back to his bedroom he decided blue would be a nice color for the overall scheme.

Making another trip to the library which somehow while certainly more grim and dirty than he remembered remained almost untouched by time he got a book on M_agicks for a __wynlic heofenhám_. Why his predecessors – or ancestors now - left them behind he could not guess but he was happy for the lucky chance.

Book in hand he moisturized the dried out paint and changed its color to a shade of bright blue. After several more tries he had refined the color to the exact shade he had in mind.

Brush in hand he went to start paint the wall only to run in the next problem. The wallpaper was sagging. He could not possibly repaint it and hope for any decent result.

Sighing deeply he put the brush back into the paint, got his wand out again and started ripping the wallpaper from the wall. After he finished stripping the wall he banished the heap of torn paper on the floor and went back up the attic looking for wallpaper.

Of course, he did not find any. Going out and buying any was out of the question. The house would not let him leave, not after having been abandoned for so long. He would need to weave his own wallpaper he realized with growing dread.

Searching for anything which could help with the endeavor he managed to locate some kind of paper rolls, papyrus and silk. Well that would need to be enough.

Sending it all to his bedroom he followed at a more sedate pace. How to make a wallpaper? He hoped the book would be of help to him. He knew his mother had used it to redecorate the manor on occasion. But to build entire materials from scratch?

Luckily it seemed, he realized upon leafing through the book, that it was an encyclopedia of all kinds of charms one needed for a house. Praising his good luck he quickly found the spell needed to create new wallpapers. Paper, papyrus and silk would need to do for the creation.

After a few tries he got the hang of it and created sheet after sheet of smooth white silken wallpaper. Looking them over he spelled them on the wall and his blue paint on them. The result was satisfying.

Narrowing his eyes he found the walls still lacked something. Leafing yet again through the book for inspiration he found a charm to create patterns. After a few failed tries he managed to lighten the blue on the wall to a lighter and grayer tone while the brighter shade turned into a pattern of leaves and flowers.

Suddenly the room seemed considerable brighter. The ceiling turned a charming tone of creme on its own and a small chandelier appeared gleaming brightly. The plastering in the corners and around the chandelier repaired and encrusted themselves with gold again. A small, hardly discernible shudder went through the house.

Smiling for the first time since setting foot into his home he went to the kitchens to get a mop to clean the floor. He hoped dearly he would not need to replace the wood work as well.

Mopping the floor went smoothly. It appeared the house was a tiny bit more cooperative than earlier in the morning. Following the grains in the wood he paid attention to the laid out pattern while quietly humming to himself.

Forgoing lunch he went strait in search of a loom in the attic to start weaving the curtains. He would pick up the color of the pattern on the wallpaper and create bright blue silk curtains. Light and airy to let the sun in, they would fit in nicely with the overall scheme.

It turned out he needed hours to weave the curtains. He was no weaver. That blessing had been his sister's. She had been a true weaver and been able to create the most beautiful tapestries, heirlooms for generations yet to come. A weaver in the house was a blessing. A blessing his family no longer had.

He looked up from his work and said into the room:

"Look, I'm sorry but I am not a weaver. I won't be able to create heirlooms or beautiful hangings that befits our station. If you won't give me access to the stores of furniture and fabrics we're going to have a problem."

The house stayed stubbornly silent at that.

"We don't have a weaver currently in the family but I promise I'll get one for this family again. We will be blessed again."

There was no direct reaction to this statement but the air lost something of its oppressive feeling. Heaving yet another sigh he turned back to the curtains. They were simply blue curtains. Nothing to sneeze at but not truly work of arts either. They would have to do.

Gathering the woven fabric he once again tracked back to his new bedroom and set to hanging the curtains. They were nice giving the room the last polish. The simple blue complemented the walls and brought out the highlights in the wooden floor. Flowing gently down they shimmered in the right lightening.

Stretching and yawning he noted that the sun had almost sunken beneath the horizon. He had spent the better part of the afternoon weaving the curtains. Still he had no bed to sleep in. Hoping the house would finally open the stores for him he went back to the attic.

Here the transformations had continued. Gone was the dust and dirt. The room was brighter and bigger filled with furniture and fabrics. He could spot some carpets hiding behind neatly rolled tapestries. Even the junk seemed to have shrunken and was now orderly stacked in one corner.

Under soft lights he went to pick a set of furniture, a carpet and a tapestry for his room. Keeping with the blue scheme he searched for blues, golds and greens.

After setting up his room, he went in search for some food. Hoping the kitchens had opened up he went downstairs. No such luck. The kitchens were cold and grim with shadows lurking in the corners. He barely managed to light a few candles he had summoned.

Standing in the cold, he considered his options. Leaving the house was not possible. It simply would not let him leave at this point. It was still too angry and afraid to loose him again to allow him past the gates. But he did not fancy going hungry either.

He concentrated on his magic and his bounds. The Peverell house-elves were long since dead now but the Potter family's should still be around somewhere. As the last Potter they were all bound to him.

Feeling the bounds of servitude that bound him to three elves he gently tugged at the strains to summon them to him. Three pops sounded through the kitchen. His elves had appeared.

Harry had gotten a headache. After the immediate chorus of "Master" had rung through the kitchen a lot of begging, crying and hysteria had commenced. As it turned out, his house-elves had practically been out in the streets. After Potter Manor burned down taking with it the elves bound to it only these three had remained. Traditionally house-elves chose to go down with the house.

But these three had been lucky. His grandparents had sent them away before the fire could claim them, too, as it had their brethren.

While his grandparents died in the flames, the elves went to his parents to serve the family in Godric's Hollow until their untimely demise. Since obviously his father had not deemed it fit to make any provisions whatsoever House Potter had not named a steward in charge of the estate upon his death.

That left his son to flounder alone through life and at the mercy of the ministry and one Albus Dumbledore while the house-elves had been entirely forgotten. With no house or family to care for they had been staying in the destroyed cottage in Godric's Hollow slowly wasting away with no household and no tasks.

How his father could have been this stupid and uncaring about his own house he would never know. But mustering the three pitiful creatures in front of him he felt cold fury taking hold of him. This was the work of blood traitors and mudbloods. Forgetting the call of the old ways, forgetting their duties to their house led to this, to the suffering of those under their care and protection.

Six eyes stared at him nervously. At least, they stayed silent now after their initial bout of hysterics. The elves had finally calmed down somewhat when he ordered them to be quiet. But it was undeniable that they were still greatly distressed.

A house-elf without a house and a family had no purpose and no magic to feed off. Eventually it became depressed and wasted away. The gaunt faces looking up at him proved that his elves had given up hope and resigned themselves to a slow death taking their master's secrets with them.

Harry took a deep breath.

"Why did you not come to me in the past? You should have been able to feel the magic binding you to me."

A nervous elf rung his hands before stepping forward and answering in a high voice:

"Master had been too young to acknowledge the bound. Kili could not come to him. Kili had to wait. Kili waited for master at his old house."

Avidly nodding, the other two elves confirmed his words.

"Fine. I acknowledge our bound now. You are my elves bound to my family and my house. Do you swear to keep my secrets?"

A choir of vows immediately greeted his ears.

"Do you swear to serve me and my house faithfully?"

Another round of oaths pipped up. Satisfied Harry watched as his elves transformed. The magic of their binding washed over them, giving them back color that replaced the gray shine of their skin. All of a sudden they seemed much healthier and livelier than just seconds before. Just was the magic of the old way.

"Good", Harry clapped his hands together. "Now, let's see. This is your new home, the ancestral estate of the Peverells. I expect you to keep it clean and tidy. The grounds need vast clearance as do the stables. The orangery probably has to be replanted and refurbished from scratch. I will take care of that. For now, prepare me dinner!"

With that two of the three house-elves popped away to fulfill their orders filled with renewed strength and determination. Only one remained and shuffled its feet nervously.

"Master, Twinky is sorry. Twinky would love to prepare dinner for master but Twinky cannot find any food in the house. Twinky will need money. Twinky must go to the market for food."

Of course, the elf could not access the vault for household purchases anymore since it was likely frozen since his parents abrupt death. Well, and since he was not yet emancipated - which he would fix as soon as possible - he could not grant the elf access to any vault but his trust vault. Which was not meant to be either accessed by a house-elf or used for grocery shopping.

Thinking quickly he replied:

"I will set up an account for the household as soon as possible. Until then use the Galleons you can find in my trunk in the entrance hall."

The elf popped away and left a Harry deep in thought in the middle of the kitchen. He would need to go to Gringotts to set up this account and take care of a number of other things like evaluating his estate and getting his emancipation. However, that would be impossible as long as the house held him prisoner. Based on the frosty air alone he would say it might take a while before he set foot out of these halls again. The house did not appear to be inclined to forgive him anytime soon.

Watching the last glimmer of the sun set beneath the horizon from the now cleared out dining room he stared at the darkening sky and waited for his house-elf to reappear with his dinner. He had spent some effort in cleaning the room into a state of no-longer-too-gross-to-eat-in but it was tentative at best. He was already too tired. He just wanted to eat and then sleep.

So a few uttered charms had to be enough for today. He even went to the trouble of returning to the attic and picking out a nice dining table with a dark shade of wood and the matching chairs stringed with green brocade.

Of course, the house did not value his tired efforts. Instead it seemed piqued that he dared to move a shining piece of furniture to an unkempt room. Already it seemed less shiny and he swore two of the chairs had tried to trip him up.

It was time that the day finally was over. _So where was that damn elf __with dinner__?_ He was half starved by now. It did not help that the boy apparently had only scraps to eat the whole summer. Understandingly his body craved food now especially after the long exhausting day he had.

Sleep came slowly this night despite the fact that he was so exhausted from the day of cleaning and renovating. He thought back to his parents in whose room he now laid and back to his little sister whose tingling laugh he would never hear again.

Bitterly, he turned to the side and stared out the window. The moon shone brightly this night. As bright as in the night of his capture. He still remembered the feel of his contracting muscles as he ran faster and faster trying to escape his hunters. Past exhaustion, he had made his way through the marsh lands in hope of finding a good hiding spot or losing his pursuers in the dense fog.

But no such luck. He had been caught and that was it. Languishing in some dungeon he had known there was no hope of rescue. He had known that it would be his death and in so many ways he had been right.

His body had died that night on the cold floor of his prison cell and his life, his real life he had been born to, had died with it. Everything he had, everything he was had ceased to be. In the span of centuries, everything and anything that mattered to him had been turned to dust by the trickling sands of time.

The wheel of fortune had turned yet again. Though he had been brought back to life he had no family. He had imagined that with a new body would come a new home. But there was nothing for him. No decent family, no decent room, not even decent clothing!

When woken up to this strange new life he woke up to find that he had been reduced to the life of a pauper no better than the mud scum squirreling through life. He had imagined that even life as only a halfbood might not be that bad. That the halfblood would still have the life he was entitled to simply by virtue of being born in the right family, the family of the main branch of the great house Peverell.

Though the Peverells had turned to being Potters they surely had not lost their standing. Which made the boy's life all the more puzzling. Why did he live the life of a blood-traitor? Why hadn't he resided in his ancestral home and taken his rightful spot as the last heir of one of Britain's oldest magical lines? Surely, the others had not given him to much grief over his polluted blood? It was his father's damnable choice after all and if the boy had married right his children would be pureblooded once more.

Yet, he had found himself in a nearly destroyed room serving as trash heap upon waking. He had to slink back to his ancestral manor only to find out it had not been used in generations. His family had clearly moved the family seat to another location that was unknown to him.

Instead now he was left with cleaning up his former family home. Completely desolate and in a right mood it hurt to see his house reduced to this. A magical home like theirs deserved better.

He definitely would need to look through their recent family history and see where it all went wrong. Had they truly become blood-traitors? Marrying mudbloods, neglecting their manors, forgetting about the duties of the paterfamilias, the list of deficits was indeed a long one. He just hoped that his estate was not reduced along side his standing.

The father of the boy must have been a fool. The boy most likely had been one, too. He really needed to go to Gringotts and check up on his estate. There was no telling what they had done – or not done.

With these thoughts in mind, sleep finally claimed him and he dreamed of the life of a boy who had spent the majority of it in a cupboard under the stairs.

The next day dawned after a night of fitful sleep. Bleary eyed he rose with the sun, immediately missing the warmth of his bed. The manor was quite chilly in the early morning hours.

Getting dressed took some time. While the house-elves had unpacked his trunk and put all clothing in the wardrobe it seemed the boy owned nothing but rags and school robes. Ugly muggle clothes greeted him upon opening his dressing room which put him at once in a fool mood.

Going through the wardrobe did not improve it. He just found muggle clothing for the size of a small whale – probably passed down from his "cousin" Dudley. Wrinkling his nose he summoned an elf to get rid of the rags. They were entirely unbecoming of an heir of house Potter.

That left him with the boy's school robes. Apparently the boy never saw fit to add everyday robes, dressing robes or any other kind of robes to his wardrobe. Or really any kind of decent clothing he was not forced to get.

Wondering about the boy's lack of grooming and pride, he resigned himself to school attire. But touching one garment brought on a whole new slew of of indignant thoughts. Not even the simple school robes were properly done! They consisted of mediocre fabric at best instead of the expensive wool or fine acromantula silk he was accustomed to.

Turning the cloth in his hands he noticed the lack of an emblem. Fury boiled over in him. That boy! No pride in his house! No respect for the long line of ancestors bearing the emblem proudly! He had been a disgrace to house Potter! It was truly luck that he had taken the boy's body and life over. He would save their family from utter shame and disgrace. Blood-traitors had no place in their noble line.

After a short breakfast, he returned to the dining room which seemed even more grim than yesterday. The table had completely lost its shine and stood lackluster in the middle of the room. It did not seem that the cleaning effort of his house-elves had any effect whatsoever.

Not that he had expected anything different. As long as the house was this sullen and angry, it would not allow him any kind of outside help. It demanded nothing less than his own hard work and effort in retribution for having been neglected for so long.

Magical houses were like this. The longer a family dwelled in a particular home, the more magic swept into the stones and woods. Until it finally developed a consciousness and thus became a true family seat and home.

The relation between a house and a family usually was a symbiotic one. The family would care and maintain the house, their magic strengthening it while the house in turn would protect and care for its family. The more sentient it became, the more it would come to love its family.

He still remembered the one ball in celebration of Samhain that his family had hosted for the ancient and noble houses of their time. There had been one guest who had seen fit to insult them and cause a scene. His action had not gone unpunished. Attacking or insulting a magical family in their ancestral home was never a good idea. Often these houses were sentient and would revenge their families. As had done his beloved manor on that fateful day many centuries in the past now.

He still remembered the fury in the faces of his parents when that wizard had accused his sister of being a hedge witch. He still heard the demands of that thrice accursed bastard of having her executed in his dreams at night. And he still could see the reaction of their house play in his memory as if it happened yesterday. Nobody threatened a family member of the house of Peverell in their ancestral seat.

The house had risen to their defense. Wards uplifting from the floor and throwing the wizard around until finally chucking him out of the building, into the night far past their timberline. Sometimes, he could still feel its cold fury, its need for revenge and its satisfaction in getting it. Thus was the nature of a magical, sentient home.

It made it all the more important that he made amends. He did not want to suffer the same consequences as that foolish Weasley family whose bloodtraitor ways had caught up with them shortly before he had been born in his original life.

The story had been the stuff for legends even in his time. His father had told him and his sister the tale as a warning of what happened if a wizarding family did not respect their magical home enough. As it went, the Weasley family had become noveau rich two generation before he had been born. In an effort to gain prestige, they had searched for a bride who would bring a magical, sentient house as a dowry. As fortune -or misfortune depending on ones view – had it, a recently impoverished pureblood family agreed to the deal. They gave the hand of their eldest daughter and their home away in marriage under the requirement that both would be treated with the respect their standing demanded. Consenting to these demands, the Weasley family soon proved that while they had the money to found a house, they did neither have the manners and honour nor the necessary skills in order to become one of the truly great magical families of Great Britain.

So they disrespected the house while living in it. Never trying to win it over, never showing it an ounce of appreciation and respect. Instead they vandalized it with their parties, turning it into the hovel they originally came from. That is until the house could no longer stand it. In one night, it turned against its family, swallowing the eldest son, his unlucky bride and their newborn son. Luckily, for the rest of the Weasley family – and unluckily for the rest of Britain- they had not been in the house that night.

Upon realizing, that the house had gone rough it had to be destroyed. If it went so far as to kill its own family, there was no turning back. It would swallow all living beings that would dare to set foot in it.

He quite liked the story and remembered its telling fondly. Served those bloodtraitors right for dismissing the old way and trying to buy their way into greater standing. Only magical prowess and tradition was an acceptable manner of advancing ones social standing.

He sighed. While reminiscing, he had at least managed to clean part of the floor. He sighed again. It would be a long day.

Harry stretched his back and stifled a yawn. The sun was already sinking beneath the horizon. He had been right. It had been a long day. The only thing he managed to accomplish was fixing the dining room. It now sported freshly painted walls, a new lustre, a gleaming wooden parquet floor, a hours long dusted of Persian rug and the appropriate furniture.

The right furniture for a specific room was very important. Magical houses were very uptight about these kind of things. They minded a lot if you ate in the kitchen when you were supposed to eat in the dining room or breakfast room. They also could not abide misplaced furniture. A dining table in the kitchen would probably result in quite the snit and very lousy food no matter the skill of his house-elves.

And then were there the furniture itself, of course. It needed the right balance per room. Otherwise it could get jealous and would try to outshine each other. Resulting in broken wood and an overall gloomy atmosphere. Fighting furniture was no fun. What was fun however, was that the furniture pieces in magical houses all seemed to have a semblance of sentience. Not to the same degree as the house itself but a gleam of sentience all the same.

Hat stands would walk over and try to take your coat, chairs would slide under the table by themselves, lustre would lighten without prompting and a plethora of other things which made life all the more magical.

Of course, it depended all on whether they were treated with the necessary amount of respect they felt they were due. Putting a glass on a piano? Bad idea. Eating on a love seat? An offense without compare. Throwing a party in the kitchen? An insult that had to be dealt with. Magical houses and their furniture were very proud indeed.

His sister had once dared to eat in the library. Aged nine, she had not wanted to abscond with her reading and instead ordered a house-elf to bring her dinner so that she could eat while reading. It had not gone over well with the house or the study table. As soon as the food was placed in front of her, the food had withered and every attempt of picking it up was met with stubborn resistance of the table until she finally gave up and joined them in the dining room. Their father had a good laugh at that. Saying, that all children of house Peverell would make that experience at least once in their life and he hoped it would teach them the necessary regard for the house. Their home had seemed to preen at that.

On the other hand, their home had also always been their greatest accomplice. Hiding them at night to sneak in the kitchen for cookies? Done. Moving dangerous items out of the ways of grabby toddlers? Done. Preventing running children from tumbling down the staircase? Done. Their home was fond of its family and they were fond of it. It was this simple.

His day ended with little fanfare. He ate and went promptly to bed. He swore he had never been this tired doing servants' work to appease his childhood home. His sleep this night went unmarred by dreams.

Over the next two weeks, Harry cleaned, repaired and refurbished the once glorious mansion. He righted the wrong done to his home. He paid attention to every minute detail, fixed even the slightest damage and bent over backwards to appease the house.

And slowly his house seemed to come around. It started small at first. After a few days, it did not take him quite as long to clean a room. There seemed to be less grim clinging to the floor and the walls. It became easier to access the furniture, the selection of nicely woven rugs and tapestries. A day on from that, he caught his home shaking out the curtains and a line of beetles vacating a cupboard in the kitchen. The atmosphere seemed brighter, less frosty as if suddenly someone had wished all the dust in the air aside.

Finally, it began to feel like home again. The rooms became bigger stretching out and returning to the size he remembered. He discovered the library in its original state again, full of books and papers just as if he had stepped out and returned a few hours later not a few centuries. His bathroom extended again offering him the luxury of a small spa area. He found his father's former office with diaries from the paterfamilias at least extending to the thirteenth century.

However, the biggest step forward had come this week. Candles lit when he stepped into a room. His house-elves were at last able to clean the mansion doing the household chores for him. And he was eventually able to open the door leading into the gardens.

Taking a step outside and breathing in the fresh morning air, he finally felt settled like he gained at least a part of his past back. Turning back to the house, he smiled an it seemed as if the house smiled back at him.


	4. Chapter III

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

**Chapter III**

**Letters**

Meanwhile, a few hundred kilometers away at Grimmauld Place Number 12, Severus Snape had to attend yet another mind-numbing meeting of the order of the phoenix. It was the tenth in as many days. Since the boy-who-lived-to-annoy-him-and-steal-his-time had vanished without a trace, the headmaster had called them daily together in a desperate attempt for a coordinated search. Idly, he wondered if he could excuse himself from the newest formed hunting party by citing more worthwhile pursuits.

As far as he was concerned, Potter had run away at the first whiff of danger and now was relaxing somewhere nice no matter the inconvenience he was causing other people. Meaning mainly himself with the waste of time that was the manhunt the headmaster kept on organizing. He gritted his teeth. No, he would be forced to spend another day combing through Knockturn Alley because the others were to squeamish to set foot into that alley and Dumbledore insisted that the boy needed to be found. How exactly the golden boy should have ended up in just that alley was anyone's guess but according to the headmaster, the meddling child - that did not know what was good for him - could be let astray by his natural curiosity. Severus thought the day a Potter roamed Knockturn Alley on his own free will, would be the day were a Malfoy would lower himself to dine with a mudblood.

"Albus, are you sure that Harry is roaming the alleys?", Molly asked again for the tenth time – having asked that very question every chance she got which meant every meeting so far. It had become a habit of hers. One Severus found increasingly annoying. However, instead of shutting that insipid woman up for good, Dumbledore as patient as ever answered her. His voice was grave when he said: "He cannot be anywhere else. Every single one of my scrying attempts so far has failed. Harry has to be either behind strong wards or at a place so saturated with magic that scrying becomes useless. Since all of his friends are here and he has not shown up at Hogwarts, the only logical conclusion is that he is hiding in the alleys."

"But what if … what if you-know-who has him?", Molly whispered fearfully in reply - also for the tenth time.

"We would know if Voldemort had him." At that, Dumbledore and every other order member looked at him. He sighed internally. Oh joy, the questions and the suspicion would start again. Moody's eye swiveled to muster him. "You better tell us everything you know.", he growled.

"How can we be sure old Snivellus would tell us if Harry had been caught? He was always dark and miserable!", the mutt shouted across the table.

"Enough! I trust Severus implicitly and that should be enough for you. We cannot fight with each other at a time like this. It is imperative that we stand together. Now, Harry must be found before one of the Death Eaters finds the boy. Did you learn anything new yesterday, Severus?", Dumbledore proceeded to ask in the full knowledge of the report he had given him just this morning. He sighed again. Obviously, he had to repeat himself in front of these morons. It would be too much to ask of the headmaster to give a short review of his update.

All eyes once more rested on him. Suppressing an eye roll, he started: "Well, as you know the Dark Lord is aware that Potter no longer resides at home. He has come to the same conclusion that the boy must be gallivanting the alleys. He has yet again reinforced the presence of the Death Eaters there. As far as I know, Narcissa now daily lunches and takes her tea at Whimsical Square whereas Lucius has taken to visit his solicitor at Horizontal Alley every morning to have a ready excuse for roaming the alleys. However, the Dark Lord thinks it unlikely that Potter is in Knockturn Alley.", he finished pointedly.

Dumbledore sighed at that. "Severus, I told you, Harry grew up with his muggle relatives. He is unaware of the dark reputation Knockturn Alley carries. He would explore that alley if only to spite that it was forbidden to him at previous trips." He nearly rolled his eyes at that. Dark reputation. Only the prejudice of light aligned wizards had made Knockturn Alley into what it was today. A hub for illegal goods and merchandise of a darker nature which was frowned upon in the upstanding shops of Diagon Alley.

Naturally, the shop owners of Diagon Alley let you pay quite a bit more for the privilege of shopping in a light and upscale environment whereas in Knockturn Alley you could always haggle for a good price if you knew the true value of an item. The shops there offered all the standard fare that Diagon sold plus a few more exotic and dangerous goods. However, mudbloods and light wizards usually stayed clear of that alley preferring to pay more than to lower themselves to set foot into that space.

Severus snorted in his mind. He usually bought his potion ingredients from there because it was not only cheaper but also because the quality was far superior. Not to mention that Jinks&Jinks had a far greater selection on sale than Slug&Jiggers Apothecary could ever hope to gather.

Ever since he had been a lowly first year student at Hogwarts had he bought his school materials from Knockturn Alley. He had been too poor to afford anything from Diagon Alley. As such, he could not understand why the Weasleys insisted to buy subpar quality only to be seen shopping in the upscale shops of Diagon Alley if they could get far better quality at a much cheaper price in Knockturn. However, much of what the Weasleys and other light aligned wizards did was beyond his reasoning. They often rather hurt their families for their prejudices than adjust to reality.

And the reality was that the Weasleys were poor. As poor as paupers. They had no longer anything left to their name. No lands, no businesses, no great magicks. Nothing. Nothing was left. Everybody knew that but the Weasleys themselves. They still thought of themselves as landed gentry that simply had fallen on hard times. But with Arthur's dead end job in the ministry that everyone and their owl laughed about, and their too many children, they had become the laughing stock of society.

The mutt's angry shout ripped Severus from his thoughts. "My godson is in danger and you expect me to stay here and do nothing, Dumbledore?", he shouted while banging his fist on the kitchen table.

Ahh, he had missed the usual in-between bickering. Now, they had arrived at the old argument of Black wanting to leave the house to search for the boy-wonder himself. Naturally, he would be shot down. However, Severus figured before Dumbledore did just that he could at least get some type of satisfaction today – miniscule as it would be.

"Black, does it really need to be explained to you again why you can't go running off? Stay put and let us adults deal with the situation.", he mocked.

"Snivellus, you filthy ...", Black started shouting enraged in return. However, he was interrupted by Dumbledore.

"Sirius, please, calm yourself. This does not help Harry at all. I know you want to go and search for him yourself but the alley is crawling with aurors, hitwizards and Death Eaters. The chance of discovery is high. You must stay at Grimmauld Place for your own safety."

After this, the meeting progressed as usual, full of shouting, bickering and digressing from topics at hand. Sometimes, his follow order members were worse than the dunderheads he had to teach at school. At least, he could cow those into silent submission and misery. He closed his eyes. It would be another long meeting followed by another long patrol in Knockturn Alley.

Time had flown by while Harry had been busy with recreating his childhood home. Now summer was nearing its end and with it came the beginning of the new school year at Hogwarts. He had just two brief weeks left to get his affairs in order. Two weeks… not a lot of time but certainly enough to get emancipated, claim his lordship and review his estate. He might even get a start on current politics and the allegiances of house Potter.

Harry finally climbed out of bed and stretched with a yawn. Today would be the first day without either cleaning, repairing or otherwise working around the house! He had put the last finishing touches to the cellars last night and called it a day around midnight. The house seemed to acknowledge his efforts and had let him sleep in today. Now, the only thing remaining that needed a makeover were the vast gardens. However, that could wait quite a while longer. He was not inclined to work around the house – or the gardens – any longer this summer. He had his estate to tend to.

Thus, he planned to spend the morning in the sunroom, drink a nice cup of tea, eat a late breakfast and finally read the newspapers. He hoped that the house no longer tempered with his mail now that he had brought it back in shape.

He was also curious what his so-called friends had written him. He knew from Harry's memories that the uppity mudblood and the jealous blood traitor had only penned short and cryptic sounding letters. Enough to let him know that there was a secret they were let in and he not but not actually spilling said secret. He was not sure whether they were smug that they knew a secret, the great Harry Potter did not for once or whether they were unbelievable stupid to let information slip to their - former – friend like this. Possible a mixture from both. They were happy that they had one over him but probably also wanted to cheer him up with holding said secret over him.

It was exhausting to deal with the riffraff of society. He truly wondered at the boy, his descendant, sometimes. How could he turn out so different from pureblood wizards? He knew from his memories that the actual purebloods the boy had encountered held themselves to a different standard. They had manners, respected the old traditions and generally traversed life with a more confident attitude. Like they knew their place in life and society. The boy obviously had not known a thing.

Icarus – now Harry – scoffed at that. He wondered how he was going to repair the damage the boy and likely his father had caused to House Potter with their negligence and ignorance. He feared it would take an even greater effort than sorting the mess with his home out.

Wandering through the halls to get to his breakfast, he ended up crossing the portrait hall. He swallowed hard. Rows and rows of his ancestors and successors lined the walls. Some he knew from his childhood days, others were foreign to him being born so far after his supposed death. He knew his mother and father were among those watching him now. He almost could feel their eyes on him.

He hurried his steps. He did not feel ready to see them again. To find out what happened to them and his sister. To find out why the row of portraits broke off in the middle of the thirteenth century. Therefore, he crossed this hall quickly without looking back ignoring the various calls of the portraits. He would return before summer ended but not now. Not now when he had that horrible feeling in his chest that made his throat ache and his fist ball. Not now.

He made it to the sunroom with a still aching throat and a constricted chest. Approaching the laid out table, a chair moved back on its own to have him seating at the head. Shortly after sitting down food appeared and he tucked in.

Next to his plate, a stack of newspapers were placed. The headlines of the oldest copy at the top immediately caught his eye.

**Dementors in Surrey!**

**Carnage in the neighbourhood of the boy-who-lived**

_**by Rita Skeeter**_

_Dear Readers,_

_last night, Dementors attacked the quiet muggle neighborhood in Surrey where no other but our very own Harry Potter, supposed vanquisher of he-who-must-not-be named, lives with his muggle relatives. Approximately at 7pm today, aurors were called to Little Whinging by none other than the former Supreme Mugwump, Albus Dumbledore, himself. What they found on arrival was a horrible scene of carnage. The bodies of several muggles and one squib, Arabella Figg, were discovered without a soul. Laying still in their beds or on the street, this reporter has to say it was a terrible sight to behold. Apparently, our esteemed headmaster reported that upon his arrival two dementors were wandering the streets, breaking into muggle homes and sucking the souls out of these unfortunate muggles. Upon request, headauror Rufus Scrimgeour confirmed:_

"_The souls of those muggles were definitely sucked out by dementors. However, we urge the public to stay calm. There is no reason to worry. The ministry will conduct an investigation into the matter."_

_But should we remain calm while the guards of Azkaban roam our streets? Has the ministry lost control of them? It takes a highly qualified wizard to produce the patronus charm – the only known defense against the dark creatures. Most witches and wizards will not be able to defend themselves if attacked._

_Lord Malfoy, esteemed member of our society, commented: "While this is highly unusual and very tragic, no wizard or witch has been hurt in the attack. I believe our community is quite safe. We should not listen to those who will use this tragic accident as a reason to spread discontent and unfounded rumors. I am fully convinced that the ministry will discover how this could happen."_

_Is Lord Malfoy, right? Was it just a tragic accident that is now used by Albus Dumbledore to spread fear through magical Britain?_

_This reporter will keep you updated!_

Harry grinned. It was always nice to create trouble for other people. He seemed to have managed to create a lot of trouble for a great deal of people he currently disliked. Albus Dumbledore and the ministry chief among them. Let's see how it played out in the following days he missed the news.

Turning to the next newspaper, he continued to read.

**Boy-who-lived missing!**

**Where is Harry Potter?**

_**by Rita Skeeter**_

_Dear Readers,_

_since yesterday morning, Harry Potter, our very own boy-who-lived, has gone missing! After starting the investigation into the unfortunate incident at Private Drive, Surrey, the aurors could not find neither hide nor hair of one Harry Potter, possible witness to the carnage of the dementors. Is he hiding? Did he cause the unusual behavior of the dementors in his youthful carelessness? Or is he a victim?_

_This reporter knows from several sources in the ministry who wish to remain anonymously that Albus Dumbledore, current headmaster of Hogwarts, has been questioned about the whereabouts of the boy-who-lived. Does Albus Dumbledore hide his student? Has Harry Potter finally cracked under the pressure and is in need of our help? Was the incident yesterday a desperate call for help?_

_Neither the ministry nor Albus Dumbledore were available for a comment. But the question remains:_

_Where is Harry Potter?_

_This reporter will keep you updated!_

Harry frowned. The following headlines continued in the same vain. His sanity and state of mind were called into question. His grasp of reality and according behavior were challenged and judged wanting. His very dignity and social standing were attacked. Attacked by the ministry and its aggressive dog in the press Rita Skeeter. The Daily Prophet seemed to have abandoned all shame to act so impudently against a member of the sacred 28 and lord of an ancient and noble house to boot.

Slander against a youth alone was a crime punishable by a hefty fine. But to actually be stupid enough to attack an ancient and noble house in this vile manner and not any member but its lord… That would cost them. He would make them pay. They would learn to respect and fear the Potter name once more. They might have been beaten and driven to the brink of their existence in the last war but they would never bent.

"Where is Harry Potter?", that question appeared to haunt every single copy of the Daily Prophet in the last two weeks. Dumbledore had not managed to keep his disappearance under wraps, not with the ministry investigation underfoot and his own standing sliding. Now everyone from Dumbledore's cronies and ministry lackeys to the Death Eaters would be on the lookout for him. That made slipping unseen in and out of Gringotts much more complicated.

With the attacks from the press getting more and more vile, claiming the lordship of House Potter and becoming emancipated was more urgent than ever. He would not let his family's name be dragged through the mud. He would not stand by and see how the last of his once great house was discarded and tossed into obscurity, becoming a joke like the Weasleys. This would not be the fate of House Potter. They would rise once more, leaving the fallout of the last war and the mistakes of his father behind.

Sighing, Harry turned to the pile of unopened letters. They, too, were sorted chronologically starting with the oldest. Skimming through Ron's letters which were variations of "Where are you, mate?" followed by exclamations of "Great escape, mate!" and "Mum's so worried." interspersed with begging of "You can tell me, mate!" and "Let me join you, Harry!", Harry snorted. As if. Ron would not be able to keep his mouth shut in front of his mother if his life depended on it. Also, he had absolutely no wish to have that idiot underfoot and be distracted by his whining. No, for now, he would ignore the blood traitor until he had decided on a course of action to deal with his "old friends".

Hermione's letters were of a similar kind if slightly – a lot – more literate. But she, too, raised the same questions over and over again as if that would make him answer her. She seemed to think that if she just often enough expressed how worried she was over him he would finally feel guilty enough to reply to her. Harry laughed at that thought. He would never feel guilty over hurting the feelings of a mudblood and especially of this uppity mudblood. As far as he was concerned, her nagging and self-righteousness were just two points in a long list of her personal failings.

Opening her latest letter, Harry settled for a repetition of what he had already read in one form or another:

_Dear Harry,_

_we heard what happened! I'm so worried for you! Where are you? Are you fine? Professor Dumbledore assured us, you were not harmed in the attack but dementors in Surrey! __Still, we are all worried about you. Where are you? Please tell us so that someone can come and pick you up. Professor Dumbledore agreed that you can stay the rest of the summer with us after what has happened at your relatives' home. Dementors in Surrey! I can't believe it. Please tell me that you are alright, Harry. I worry so much about you. If anything happened, tell me!_

_I assume that you have found new accommodations by now. I hope it is safe wherever you are but please consider writing us. It is so much safer here than where you are now. Ron and I live here with Sirius and the Weasleys. We would all be pleased if you'd join us. We could spend the rest of the summer together like last year!_

_Onto the topic of last year. I hope you have at least started your summer homework by now. I remember that you and Ron had to rush through them at school last year because you did nothing at all during the hols. This is our OWLs years! It will decide the rest of our future! What classes we can and cannot take. What career we might be able to pursue. Who will hire us. It is very important! Harry, you can't slack off as you have done last year. You have to do better!_

_Please, let us know where you are!_

_Best_

_-Hermione_

The last of Hermione's letters had the exact same questions and advises as the ones before. He had been right. It had been utter waste of his time. She seemed to be determined to nag him into a guilty conscience. Too bad for her that he did not have a conscience to begin with.

He laughed at that thought. What a face she would make, what a face they all would make if they could hear that thought. If they would know that their hero, their symbol for all what is light and good in their world, had no morals and no ethics. That, in fact, he was their very enemy they thought to combat. A thousand years old necromancer wearing the face of the national hero who brought down the last dark lord. Fate did have a sense of humor.

With a chuckle, he went on to read Sirius' letters. He hoped that they, at least, were more interesting and did not follow the same repetitive schema. His godfather was an odd conundrum after all. Lord of the ancient and noble House of Black but still on Dumbledore's side. Abandoning his family and all their teachings, only to exhibit their most vicious and cruel characteristics when dealing with Professor Snape. Spending over a decade in Azkaban on behest of the Light Lord but upon escape running back to his protection and being imprisoned again by him in one of the Black properties. Rebelling against all things dark, only to be ultimately betrayed by the light.

He had not decided yet whether his godfather turned out to be an ally or a foe but he started to suspect from his letters that it would be the first. Lord Black seemed to be very unhappy with his current living arrangements going so far as letting slip that he could not leave his own house because of Dumbledore's orders. He could practically hear the bitterness in his godfather's tone. The Weasleys and the mudblood did not appear to help matters. Being raised as a respectable pureblood, Sirius would have problems getting accustomed to the loud and brash behavior of the blood traitors and Granger's nagging. He could only imagine the clash between pureblood manners and a fundamental lack of respect for wizarding traditions. And Sirius, even after everything he had done, was raised a proper pureblood.

Hermione was worried. And when she was worried, she would nibble on her lip and try to make a plan to solve whatever caused her to worry so. However, at the moment, there was nothing she could do. In fact, she believed there was nothing anybody could do. It had been two weeks since Harry had vanished. Two long weeks she had spent worrying, nibbling on her lips and making plans. Only to reach the same conclusion over and over again: If Harry did not contact her, there was nothing she could do.

She had watched Professor Dumbledore come and go, each new meeting appearing more worried and old. At first, she had believed that surely he would find Harry quickly and bring him to safety. But as the days dragged on and no Harry was found, she became less sure and ever more so worried.

She had written Harry letters. Nearly every day, she had owled him in the hope he would finally reply. But nothing. And Hermione became more worried. This was not like Harry at all. Sure, he was angry at her at the moment for not telling him what was going on. But that was for his own good! Surely, he would understand once she could explain herself. Besides, Harry had never failed to reply previously. Sure, he had become short and snappy with her but at least he had replied. But now…

Hermione turned on her heels and paced the length of the bookshelf back. She just could not sit still any longer. Not when her friend, her first friend, was possibly in danger or running from Voldemort or being captured by Death Eaters or … She stopped herself. Harry was fine. She knew that. Harry had a knack for these things. Where she would be completely lost, Harry thrived. Where she was too scared and fearful, Harry rushed ahead and got things done. He always fell on his feet. He would survive and come back to her. He always did. This time would not be different.

But however often Hermione told herself that, she could not stop worrying. Harry, her shining knight in armor, who had come to rescue her from the troll, who had been her first friend ever, who ran headfirst into danger to save his friends, never thinking on his own safety, who …

She blinked back her tears. He would come back. He had to come back!


	5. Chapter IV

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

**Chapter IV**

**The Alleys**

The white, imposing building of Gringotts loomed above him in the red dust of an early morning. Climbing slowly up the stairs, one by one, Harry paused briefly to take in the small bustle already forming in Diagon Alley. Although the morning was still very young, witches and wizards in small numbers were traversing the street waiting for the first shops to open or visiting Gringotts to take care of their banking business and avoid the late crowds full of schoolchildren and their parents.

Harry turned back to the bank and took the last steps up to the huge portal leading into the foyer. Nodding respectfully at the Goblin guards, he crossed the threshold and proceeded to the closest free teller. Not many of his brethren had yet arrived to visit their vaults. As such, Harry luckily did not have to wait in line for a Goblin accountant and chance being seen by one of Dumbledore's men.

"Harry James Potter, heir to House Potter and House Peverell. I am here to claim my lordships and review my estate.", Harry calmly informed the teller.

At his claim, the Goblin looked up and mustered him. "Does heir Potter have his signet ring with him to proof his identity?"

"No, but I am sure that you can verify my claim.", Harry answered just as quietly. He did not want to be overhead and have Dumbledore or the Dark Lord tipped off on what he was doing here today. He would make his statement on his own terms and in his own time.

"This way, heir Potter. I will accompany you to the Potter family's account manager Ripclaw. He will indeed be able to verify your claim."

Hopping of his high stool, the Goblin circled the desk and beckoned Harry to follow him down the long row of tellers before taking a sharp turn to the right into a smaller but no less ostentatious hall. Wooden doors were interspersed by expensive wand hangings and magnificent armors. Golden weapons and jewels the size of Harry's balled fist were on display.

Walking down the gleaming marble floor, the teller opened a solid mahogany door to the left right next to a golden battle-axe adorned with rubies in front of a tapestry depicting the battlefield at Hogsmeade during the second Goblin rebellion. It was a rather gruesome image of one of the Goblin's clan leaders holding the head of a wizard high in the air to the cheering of his troops.

Noticing Harry's gaze, the Goblin in front of him grinned. "A proud moment of Goblin history.", he commented maliciously before stepping through the open door and bowing to the Goblin seated behind an enormous desk covered with various papers.

"Heir Potter, account manager Ripclaw.", the teller presented Harry who had followed shortly behind his guide through the door and now nodded politely at his account manager. With another bow, the teller left and closed the door behind him.

Ripclaw returned Harry's gaze and mustered him in return. He finally spoke: "Heir Potter, I am surprised you came to see me. After you did not reply to my letter I sent you on your eleventh birthday, I assumed I would not see you before you reached your majority."

Harry stepped in front of the desk and took the seat Ripclaw gestured him to before replying. "Account manager Ripclaw, I assure you I have not received any letter from you. I assume it got lost in the chaos surrounding the arrival of my Hogwarts acceptance letter."

Ripclaw raised his brow at that but let it slide. "Be that as it may, Heir Potter, the fact remains that your accounts and the lordship of House Potter have lain dormant for over a decade now. I tried to contact you on behalf of Gringotts to make you aware of the state of your estate and its associated businesses. While I could prevent any losses to your vaults, I could not reinvest any money without the leave of the head of House Potter. I am afraid you have hardly made any profits from your various business ventures in the last ten years."

Harry internally winced at that statement. It seemed the family estate was worse off than he thought. While he knew from his descendant's memories that he had hardly cared for financial matters, he had hoped that at least the father of the boy would have been smart enough to set up some precautions in the event that their only son and heir became an orphan during the war. Apparently, he had hoped for too much.

Ripclaw continued: "However, first things first. In order to review your estate, Heir Potter, you need to claim the lordship of House Potter."

"As it is, I came today to claim the lordships of House Potter and House Peverell, account manager Ripclaw.", Harry said.

The goblin briefly looked surprised at the mentioning of laying claim to House Peverell but he replied smoothly: "Of course, Heir Potter. As you do not have your signet ring with you, we need to conduct a blood test to verify your claim to be Harry James Potter. If your claim is true, you will be able to obtain both the lordship of House Potter and of House Peverell."

With that, Ripclaw opened a drawer under his desk and pulled out an empty sheet of parchment and an ornate dagger that Harry was immediately able to identify as a Sumerian ritual dagger by its runes around the hilt. Placing the parchment and the dagger in front of Harry, the goblin gestured for the boy to start.

Sensing that this was a test to gauge his level of knowledge in rituals and old traditions, Harry had to suppress a grin. Where his descendant would fail, he excelled. From what he gathered from the memories of the boy, he had no actual knowledge of either the old way or blood magicks. In fact, blood magicks and rituals seemed strangely absent from the curriculum of Hogwarts. Almost as if they had been purged away with necromancy and the darker, more ancient arts.

Well, it was time to impress his account manager and leave a lasting impression of what kind of wizard he was. Picking up the ritual dagger, Harry did not hesitate to pierce the forefinger of his left hand and let three drops of his blood spill on the charmed parchment. A soundless murmur closed the small wound and burned the excess blood on the dagger away.

The goblin watched the display of magic with interested eyes but did not comment. Soon their eyes turned to the parchment where the blood had spread out and formed a family tree. The family tree of House Potter, former House Peverell.

"Well, everything seems to be in order, Heir Potter.", the goblin said after carefully inspecting the tree. He turned to his right and pulled on a long cord that dangled next to his desk from the ceiling. Harry could not hear a sound but a few seconds later sharp knocks on the door ringed through the office.

A small goblin similar to the teller from earlier opened the door on Ripclaw's guttural shout. They briefly conversed in Gobbledook before the small goblin left again.

"Bloodthorne will bring the Potter and the Peverell signet rings to claim your lordships, Heir Potter. He will not take long to retrieve them from your vaults."

True to his words, a few minutes later the same sharp knocks were heard again before the small goblin reappeared in the door on Ripclaw's shout. This time he bowed to both Ripclaw and Harry before entering the office and presenting two wooden boxes on a silver tray to his superior.

Ripclaw picked them carefully up and set them on his desk before dismissing the smaller goblin with a negligent wave of his hand. After bowing yet again to Ripclaw and Harry, the smaller goblin left without another word. Only the two boxes gleaming in the warm light of the oil lights remained as proof of his interruption.

One was very familiar to Harry. Made out of dark wood and bearing the coat of arms of House Peverell, Harry already knew what lay inside. The lord and the heir ring of House Peverell. The same rings which just had been on his father's and his own hand not so long ago in his memory. However, actually over a thousand years had passed between then and now.

The other box was made of a lighter wood and had the Potter coat of arms carved on the top. It contained the rings of his descendants. Rings, he had never seen before but now would wear just as proudly as the Peverell one.

Ripclaw reached for the first box, the one bearing the Potter coat of arms, and opened it gently. Inside two rings lay side by side. The ring for the lord of House Potter and the one for the heir. Both were a beautiful yellow gold set with a ruby upon which their coat of arms were carved. Though, the heir ring was less elaborate and held a smaller ruby.

The goblin pointed to it with a gnarled finger. "This one is the heir ring. It should have gone to you upon your eleventh birthday. However, since you have not visited me then, it remained with us at Gringotts. As you will be claiming your lordship today, it will stay in your vault."

With that, Ripclaw gestured towards the lord ring. Confidently, Harry reached his hand out and picked the beautifully crafted ring up. As soon as he slid it over his left ring finger, he felt his family magic spilling from the ring in one big wave eagerly seeking out his own magic which rose to greet it. He knew if he had not been a Potter and the heir, he would have burnt. Instead the ring settled with a flash denoting him as the new Lord Potter.

Ripclaw showed him a sharp grin. "It seems you are who you say you are, Heir Potter." With that, the goblin turned to the darker shaded box and opened it equally gently as the first. Inside two richly ornated gold rings lay. Handcrafted from the founder of House Peverell, his many times great grandfather, and decorated with a black diamond so dark it seemed to absorb all light around it.

This time, Harry's hand trembled when he moved to pick up the ring. The lord ring, he had last seen on his father's hand, now gleamed on his own. Wearing it felt like coming home. Familiar magic rose from the ring and flowed into him. So similar to the Potter's family magic but at once so different.

It was like day and night. Where the Potter's family magic was light and sturdy, the Peverell's was dark and velvet. The Potter's spoke of summer rain and great wards whereas the Peverell's whispered of the old way and forbidden rituals to call the dead.

Harry breathed in and closed his eyes. Finally. Finally, this felt like home. The magic he remembered having since his childhood days now coursed once more through his veins. It was exhilarating. It was liberating. It was everything.

Ripclaw cleared his throat to gain Harry's attention. Opening his eyes and throwing one lingering look at his former heir ring, Harry nodded briefly when the goblin started to close the boxes and set them aside.

"Now onto the matter of your estate, Lord Potter.", Ripclaw spoke while opening a drawer and pulling out a huge leather.

"The wealth and estates of House Peverell were absorbed by House Potter. While the title of Lord Peverell and the family magic associated with House Peverell remains, the lands and properties now belong to House Potter. Since you claimed both lordship to House Potter and Peverell, the specifics of how a Potter has to treat particular heirlooms and properties passed down from the Peverell line do not apply to you."

The goblin cleared his throat again before he continued. "The last lord of House Potter was your grandfather, Fleamont Charlus Potter, who was killed in the first wizarding war. Your father, James Charlus Potter, never tried to obtain lordship for House Potter. This has led to House Potter being without a head of family for nearly two decades."

"The lack of a head of House has more political than financial consequences usually. However, it cannot be denied that during the time your late father oversaw the accounts of House Potter a large negative flow of gold has been generated."

"Your grandfather had been a renowned warder and later in his life a shrewd politician and investor. During his tenure as lord of House Potter, he added substantially to its wealth. He left your father a stable and prosperous estate that generated a large yearly income. A very comfortable position to start from as a new head of family."

"Your father, unfortunately, refused to take the burden of the lordship and the responsibility for the family. Since the death of your grandfather, there have been no new investments or business ventures. Indeed, the only revenue came from businesses undertaken by your late grandfather. As your father took very little interest into financial matters, the accounts ceased to be balanced after a short while."

"Your father was one of the main financial backers of the Order of the Phoenix. As a result, the war nearly bled the Potter vaults dry. Your father had to sell off some of the older investments in your portfolio to continue funding the war in the last years. Additionally, a summerhouse in France and a cottage in Scotland were liquidized."

Harry was honestly shocked. While he knew that the boy's father had been negligent in his duties as head of house - not to mention his refusal to become Lord Potter -, he had not imagined the extent of damage now presented to him by his goblin account manager.

Ripclaw went on. "Some of the losses obtained throughout the last years of the war have been compensated by inheritances and donations dedicated to the boy-who-lived from well-wishers and grateful citizens. Nonetheless, House Potter has lost its status as a very wealthy House and is currently on shaky grounds financially speaking."

Politically as well, Harry thought darkly. From what he had garnered in the short amount of time he had during this life, it seemed that the boy and his father had hurt House Potter's standing in the political arena substantially. Through negligence and sheer stupidity, his House was on the precipice. Either they would rise once more as high as magic might would carry them or they would fall down into the rabble made up of the Weasleys of this world.

Harry pressed his lips together. House Potter would rise once more. He would make sure of it. He would rise it far above their former glory. The boy's and his father's decisions would be forgotten, an inconsequential footnote in history.

The goblin cleared his throat again to regain Harry's attention before he started speaking again. "It is now of the utmost importance to make the right profit yielding investments." Ripclaw stopped here shortly and threw Harry an unimpressed look. "Profit yielding investments which also should be properly conducted."

Harry frowned trying to think back to what his account manager was alluding to. He knew of no investment the boy had made however unorthodoxly.

Seeing Harry's clueless look, Ripclaw grunted and elaborated. "Last week, Fred and George Weasley formally registered their business with us and opened a vault. In their application, they listed you as shareholder. You own 30 percent of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes."

It clicked in Harry's mind. He finally found the moment in his memories where the boy had handed over the 1000 galleons of his prize money to the Weasley twins to help them fund their business.

It might have been a smart idea. The twins where quite innovative and more intelligent than they were given credit for. If they proved to be accomplished businessmen as well, they could make a small fortune with their products. True innovators were very rare in the wizarding world after all.

Therefore, talent like theirs were highly prized and sought after. Harry had the good luck to be one of the early backers. If their business would prove to be lucrative, he would earn a good chunk of gold to hopefully start repairing the damages to his vaults James Potter had caused.

Ripclaw grunted. "We have to see how well their business venture will develop. From what I gathered when I was called to their initial meeting with Gringotts, it possesses a lot of potential. However, while this is certainly one worthwhile venture to pursue, it will not be enough to balance out your portfolio, Lord Potter."

"With your leave, I will start making inquiries into which shares from what business are currently on the market and who needs a financial backer to realize their business plans. In a week's time, the results can be owled to you to decide where you wish to invest your gold, Lord Potter."

Harry nodded. "That sounds perfectly acceptable, Account Manager Ripclaw."

In response, Ripclaw grinned sharply at him before stacking two thick leather volumes in front of him. "These are the books accounting the Potter estate. Every investment, every holding and every property you own, literally the whole Potter fortune down towards the last knut, is listed in one of these ledgers."

"It would be very advantageous if you could revise them, Lord Potter."

After a sharp nod from Harry, the goblin pointed to the book lying on top of the short stack. "This one here holds an account of all your properties and heirlooms. The other lists all your investments and businesses."

"While Gringotts possesses copies of these ledgers, it would still be a great misfortune to lose them, Lord Potter.", his account manager warned.

After another nod from Harry, Ripclaw handed the books over to him and moved on.

"I believe, this is all for today, Lord Potter. Gringotts has been pleased very much by your visit."

While Harry doubted the last statement of the goblin, he stood up and gave a regal nod.

"I assure you, the pleasure has all been mine, Account Manager Ripclaw.", Harry said.

The goblin gave another one of his sharp and quick grins, before bidding him farewell and calling Bloodthorne back to accompany him to the entrance hall. Following the other smaller goblin through the ornated hall, Harry adjusted the two ledgers beneath his arm.

Stepping out in the sun again, Harry blinked and searched his surroundings. Finding none of Dumbledore's men or Death Eaters in his immediate vicinity, he set off to buy a new wardrobe. After the shocking state it was currently in, his house-elf had spent the better part of the morning searching for at least one decent robe he could wear to Gringotts.

It turned out, the only half decent one, he currently possessed, were the green dress robes from the Yule ball. Feeling slightly out of place in them, Harry hurried Diagon Alley down to the crossing of Knockturn Alley.

Taking a sharp turn, Harry followed the darker and in his mind cosier cobblestone alley before he arrived at yet another crossing. To the left, in a small and nameless alley, the best tailors of wizarding Britain could be found. Outshining everything Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade had on offer.

It was still relatively empty at this time of the day with only a few errand-boys running about. Knockturn Alley would only truly come awake as dust started to settle and would go back to a grumbling slumber as soon as dawn broke.

Critically examining the different robemakers, Harry settled for _Sartor's Enchanted Robes_ vaguely recalling the name from a time gone by. Its green marble facade gleamed in the rising sun and seemed strangely out of place in what was essentially a slum. Yet, it was neatly tucked in next to the other tailors who had equally outrageous shop fronts.

Walking by an elegant rosé and gold marble column, Harry headed for his chosen tailor's shop. Opening the door, a soft chime greeted his ears before a middle-aged man appeared from the backroom to welcome him to his business.

With a slight bow, Harry was greeted. "Welcome, my Lord, to Sartor's Enchanted Robes serving witches and wizards for over 12 generations. How may I serve you today, Sir?"

The apparent owner mustered Harry with a slight sneer on his face. Whether because of his House or his wardrobe, Harry could not say but the disgrace, his House had fallen into, was unacceptable nonetheless. He was here today to take the first steps to remove the stain his name had acquired in the old circles during the last generation.

"Greetings, Master of Robes and Gowns. I am here to acquire a full wardrobe befitting of my newly inherited station."

If the Master of Robes and Gowns was surprised by the correct form of address, he didn't show it. Instead he offered another bow and guided Harry to the platform in the back room upon which a mannequin was placed.

"With your leave, my Lord, I will take your measurements.", the wizard said and drew his wand. Harry gave a short nod. A swish of the Master's wand transformed the mannequin into an exact replica of Harry.

After a short discussion over materials, colors and stitched emblems, they agreed upon an order and its costs. Guiding Harry back to the front and towards the cash register, the wizard accepted a Gringotts check from Harry and gave an estimate on when Harry's house-elf could come to pick up his new wardrobe.

Another bow and a short farewell later, Harry was out on the street again. Turning and following the small lanes, he made his way over to Horizontal Alley.

**BREAK**

Lucius Malfoy was not having a good day. The Dark Lord was displeased. And a displeased Dark Lord always resulted in a bad day for the Malfoy Lord.

Despite their best efforts, no one had succeeded in finding the Potter boy. The best of their brethren had spent a considerable amount of time and skill into the search of the elusive heir but could not even discover a hint of his whereabouts.

Lucius would have been convinced that Dumbledore had hidden him away somewhere if it wouldn't be for the fact that Severus reported differently. According to the esteemed Potion Master, the old man had lost track of the boy during the holidays when Potter had apparently decided to run away.

That left them in a race with the Order of the Phoenix in who would find the boy-who-lived first. However, Lucius started to suspect that neither of their sides would succeed.

If Potter had managed to evade capture for weeks now, it was highly unlikely that anything would change that now. Everything that could be tried to locate him had already been tried. If luck or chance did not come to help them out, the Potter boy would remain lost.

Privately, Lucius mused that Potter must have had help. Only wards of considerable strength could have hidden the boy so thoroughly to avoid detection by the most skilled trackers in the country. No mere school boy could do that on his own.

That raised the question of who would harbour the boy and protect him from both the Light and the Dark Lord. Only very few people came to mind who had both the strength and the will to do so. Actually, there was only one name. Flamel.

But why would the Flamels deliberately snub their former apprentice Dumbledore and risk at the same time to enrage the Dark Lord? It made no sense. They had nothing to gain from this intervention. Additionally, the were famously neutral.

Even during the last wizarding war or the war against Grindelwald before, they stayed neutral. Never offering the slightest of advise to either side. Never letting on what they believed in.

Lucius suspected they were actually dark wizards. The creation of the Philosopher's Stone could not have been light magic.

Despite his thoughts on the matter, the Dark Lord hesitated to follow his logic. Why make enemies of centuries old wizards if there was no real proof of their meddling in current affairs.

Without a raid on the Flamel's home, that left them all at square one. No one knew anything, they all just had their suspicions. From what Lucius heard, Dumbledore had already tried to invite himself over to the Flamel's mansion with little success.

Of course, it could also just be another case of the famous Potter luck that had come into play at the most improbable of times and saved the boy again. Honestly, going by how much luck the boy had, one would think his mother had dropped him into cauldron full of Felix Felicis.

Some luck of his own would be nice, too, Lucius groused. If he and Narcissa would come again back with nothing to show for, the Dark Lord would grow even more impatient and eventually decide that they did not deserve a second chance.

After his desertion at the end of the last wizarding war, he had been in hot waters with his Lord and had barely managed to keep his coveted position in the inner circle. He had to prove himself once more to the Dark Lord.

Finding the boy-who-lived would do that. It would spare him from more grueling tasks and firmly cement his position as the Dark Lord's right hand. It would also help him in keeping his sister-in-law Bellatrix in check.

She had always been a complete nutter. Azkaban had only made it worse. So worse in fact that his dear wife had already insisted on getting a more specialised mind healer than the one they had one duty right now.

Lucius sighed. Today had been another waste of time. His lawyer grew restless with his many visits and frankly Lucius did so, too. There was only so much they had to discuss.

Taking his cloak and nodding his farewell, Lucius opened the door and entered the stairwell cane firmly grasped. Leisurely making his way down, he froze on the last turn. He could hardly believe his own eyes.

Directly before him stood the Potter heir. A cursory glance showed him, the boy was now the Lord of his House.

**BREAK**

The revolving staircase to the headmaster's office seemed especially slow today. Moving at a snail's pace, Severus could feel his own body vibrating with the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

Since he had encountered the Malfoy Lord half an hour ago, he had vibrated with suppressed energy. Waiting through Lucius report to the Dark Lord, he had immediately apparated back to Hogwarts and hurried through the halls.

Only to be stalled by the thrice cursed staircase to the headmaster's office. Finally reaching the top, Severus didn't bother to knock and simply ripped the door open to storm in.

Dumbledore looked up from his paper work and regarded him with a frown. "Ah Severus, I am surprised ..." He didn't get any further.

"The boy has been found! The Dark Lord has found Potter!", he all but snarled.

Dumbledore rose blue eyes mustering Severus sharply. "How did he find Harry?", he demanded with a hard voice.

Severus gave a bitter laugh. "Pure blind luck! It seems Potter has finally run out of his. Half an hour ago, Lucius stormed into the Dark Lord's manor and reported that he had encountered the boy at his lawyer's office in Horizontal Alley."

Out of all the possible places to visit, Potter had to visit the same lawyer as Lucius. Of course, he had. And he had to do it at the same time as the Malfoy Lord.

When he had finally managed to extract himself from the meeting at the Dark Lord's mansion, plans were in full swing to intercept Potter when he left his lawyer's office, and kidnap him. A full battalion of Death Eaters were dispatched to Horizontal Alley to make sure that this time the boy would not escape the grasp of the Dark Lord.

"I will inform the Order immediately. We need to send a full team, possibly including Kingsley, Tonks and Alastor. We cannot let Harry fall into the hands of Voldemort."

Severus gave a sharp laugh at that. "The Dark Lord is sending a full battalion of Death Eaters. It will be carnage if you just send a five men strong team to rescue Potter."

Dumbledore looked at him disappointed. "We will not start a battle in the middle of our main shopping district during the holidays. Our goal is to save Harry. We will have to be discrete and guide Harry out, unseen."

"Violence and demonstration of strength are rarely what we need. I will give the team portkeys so that they can leave as soon as they have grasped hold of Harry."

Severus wondered again if Dumbledore was delusional or just did not care about the lives of the wizards he was going to risk. A five men strong team would be suicide.

The Death Eaters would not shrink away from a battle to capture Potter. Especially not with a five men strong team. They would relish the change to torture and kill their enemy.

"What if the boy does not want to come with us? He has avoided us so far.", Severus pointed out.

"Harry will see reason when he sees Remus."

"So that's your plan? To send Kingsley, Tonks, Alastor, Remus and another wizard to somehow sneak Potter out of the deadly situation he brought himself in? The Death Eaters will see Potter as soon as he steps out."

"Not if we catch Harry in his lawyer's office."

"That is highly illegal."

Dumbledore regarded him with another frown. "Circumstances force our hands sometimes to do things we rather not do. I am sure Harry will understand."

Sometimes, Severus wondered whether the Dark Lord and the headmaster were really that different from each other.


	6. Chapter V

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

**Chapter V**

**Acallam**

It turned out to be Severus who was going to be the fifth member of the team, the Order of Phoenix was dispatching to Horizontal Alley. Of course, it had to be him. Despite all his misgivings and strongly vocalized complains, Dumbledore had somehow managed to strong arm him into going along with the harebrained scheme.

Bitterly, Severus thought, his death would matter little to either of his masters. Despite all his accomplishments as a Potion Master – the youngest Europe had ever seen -, despite his considerable strength and knowledge, his life was held in poor regard. He could brew potions, only very few masters in the world were able to make. He had made more contribution to his field than any other master in England in their entire career.

Yet one mistake made in his youth, meant that instead of becoming a celebrated master of his field, he would be forever stuck at a school teaching ignorant children how not to blow up their cauldron. Severus rarely allowed himself the luxury of ruminating how his life could have turned out if he had stayed away from either of his masters. The idle thoughts usually turned bitter pretty quickly of what could have been.

Even now, he mused how just one decision ruined the life he had wanted for himself. A quiet existence brewing and inventing potions; perhaps with a small apothecary in Knockturn Alley. He would have his office in the guild same as now, only he would frequent it far more often.

He envisioned himself as a reclusive scholar who made an appearance just once or twice a year at the public guilds' fair. Maybe he would have had an apprentice by now. A clever boy just as he had been who appreciated the fine art of potion brewing. If he would have been so lucky to find such a boy.

Luck was certainly not one of his strong characteristics. Fate seemed to have spelled him with misfortune at every turn. His mother born a Prince and disowned by the House of Prince married a drunk ensuring that her only son would grow up in poverty and misery. Hogwarts, his only refuge from his father and carrying so much promise of a better, happier future for him, just became a different sort of hell.

He was certainly cursed. The Potter boy, on the hand, seemed to have fallen into a cauldron of Felix Felicis. No wizard should be entitled to so much luck!

But today, Severus feared the boy's luck would run out. There was no chance that Potter would escape a full battalion of Death Eaters on his own. Even with the help the five order members would provide him, it was very likely that the boy would not see another sunrise.

Dumbledore's absurd plan risked all their lives. If they would not turn up dead by the end of the day, they certainly would be on a boat to Azkaban. What the headmaster had suggested was highly illegal. It would ensure a minimum sentence of ten years in Azkaban. Not that Dumbledore seemed particularly worried about that outcome.

Severus gritted his teeth. Not that Dumbledore had ever seemed particularly worried when one of his order members risked life or limb for him. It always was either the right thing to do or a small favor not worth the note. How the others fell for it time and time again, he could not understand.

What he also could not understand was how he managed to get dragged into these situations by the headmaster time and time again. How Dumbledore found a way to twist his arm every single time he needed a favor from him that Severus was not particular inclined to give. It was frustrating! And showed him again and again how little control over his life he actually had.

As if to reinforce that thought in Severus mind, just in this moment Alastor, the leader of their so called team, brought order to the room by shouting over the noise generated by a large group of people talking in much too small a room. They were ready to depart for Diagon Alley. Merlin help them all.

Harry watched the proceedings on Horizontal Alley with grim smile from his lawyers large window that was spelled to obscure the people inside the building looking out. He saw a full battalion of dark robed wizards arrive a few minutes ago that he recognized as Death Eaters from the boy's memories. They had moved into position surrounding the entrance of this building clearly laying in wait for him.

That they did not dare to storm his lawyer's office and try to take him hostage told him that they still uphold the old custom of Acallam. Acallam, one of their oldest and most protected traditions, dated back to the time before even Merlin had wandered the green hills of what was today's Great Britain. In its most basic form it stated that no gathering of magicals which had been called to resolve a conflict, could be interrupted by any party present or any outsider. It ensured that an actual consensus could be reached without the need to go to war. It also guaranteed the safety of every member of the colloquy.

Much later, it has transformed to include court proceedings and client lawyer meetings. As such, his appointment today with his lawyer fell under Acallam. No one, not even the aurors, were allowed to storm the office in the duration of this meeting. While he wasn't too sure whether or not it was still the law in these lands due to the boy's poor knowledge in all things magical, he could not think of one reason why it should have been abolished in the time it took him to be reborn.

His respect for the boy's enemies rose. He half turned from the window to look at his lawyer who stood a foot behind him also watching the street below them.

"Is the old custom of Acallam still in effect?", he inquired quietly.

His lawyer, an imposing man, seemed surprised for a moment that he knew of the old tradition before answering him honestly.

"Yes, my Lord, it is the law in our land and carries a hefty sentence if broken. Ten years in Azkaban if I'm not mistaken."

There was a brief pause between man and boy before the elder spoke up again. "My Lord, may I suggest we call the aurors to sort this out for you? They could not refuse a call to protect Acallam. I'm sure even in the current political climate they will uphold the old law. It is too ancient and too respected that any of them would dare to let a breach of it pass."

"Not yet, Senior Counsel, not yet. We have to be patient. They have not broken Acallam yet nor will they. If we call the aurors now, we have nothing to report."

"My Lord, the threat of breaching Acallam is not nothing. It is very serious indeed! It is the aurors' job to defend our colloquy against all malicious influences.", the senior counsel protested.

Harry raised his hands placatingly. "I know, Senior Counsel. However, I fear that our dear minister in his overzeal to reign me in and his desire to proof that the boy-who-lived is not above the law will use this opportunity to move against me regardless of the sacrosanct nature of Acallam."

"Then what do you suggest we do, my Lord?", his lawyer inquired.

"We wait. I have a feeling Dumbledore's men will arrive soon. Any disturbance they create, any fight they start will force the aurors to come and break it up."

With the nice side effect that instead of him either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord would be in crosshairs with the ministry. That should give him at least a brief reprieve.

When Dumbledore's rescue party finally arrived, it turned out to be even more of a disaster than Harry was expecting. Instead of the expected battalion, only a group of five wizards arrived, from which only three were highly skilled duelists.

Harry watched on from his post in the high window how these five tried to sneak down the alley and past the stationed Death-Eaters. That, of course, did not quite work out as the group obviously had planed.

They were spotted almost immediately by one of the outposts who sounded the alarm. Within seconds, the Death Eaters got into formation forming an impenetrable line blocking the quintet from advancing further. Wands were raised and pointed while a man Harry identified as Remus Lupin stepped forward hands raised in the air.

It looked as if he were trying to pinpoint the leader of the battalion. Harry nearly snorted. It should have been obvious to Lupin who led the Death Eaters from their battle formation. However, basic tactical knowledge was apparently to much to hope for when it came to Dumbledore's men. The Death Eater took pity on Lupin and stepped one single step forward. That was all he granted the werewolf.

Harry couldn't hear the ensuing conversation but watched interested on as Lupin's face grew steadily more heated and enraged. It seemed things weren't going the werewolf's way. In contrast, the Death Eater had taken a relaxed rather lazy pose. It was quiet clear to Harry who had the upper hand in this argument.

Then, suddenly, there was an explosion of action. Curses were flying from both sides, shields were hastily erected and passersby ran screaming away from the alley. Windows got smashed in, cobblestones exploded into thousands of pieces and combatants were dropping onto the ground. Afterwards, Harry would be unable to say who had thrown the first curse.

Steadily, the group of five lost ground. They had to retreat more and more towards the main alleys while the Death Eater moved up. While the battalion still held a strict order within their lines, all fashion of order or discipline was lost on Dumbledore's side. It was every men for himself whereas the Death Eaters shielded as one and attacked as one.

Harry was less than impressed with that he saw from the quintet. They did not seem to understand basic tactics or battle strategy. They lacked any sense of order or discipline within their ranks. Harry couldn't understand how Dumbledore did not train his men better.

The group of five were outnumbered by such a ridiculous degree that it was only a question of time when they would loose the battle – and their life with it. However, just as their chances turned bleaker and bleaker, fate intervened. It seemed the Gods were on their side today since luck smiled on them.

As soon as the battle had started, it was over. Suddenly, aurors in red appeared and were all over the place. Separating the two sides and forming lines between combatants, they broke up the fight quite effectively and saved the life of the quintet in the process.

Harry was already turning away from the window when he saw a gray blur speeding towards the entrance of the building he was in out of the corner of his eye. It was so fast he was almost certain to be mistaken until he heard the crashes on the staircase.

"I think now is the time to call the aurors, Senior Counsel. Report a breach of Acallam to them."

His senior counsel nodded and hastily stepped towards his fire place firecalling the department of magical law enforcement. Or at least trying to. The fire briefly turned green only to revert back to its original orange red state. Someone had meddled with the floo connection.

"My Lord, it seems one of the parties has meddled with the floo connection. We no longer can reach the department of magical law enforcement."

Harry gave a terse nod to that statement. "I already thought they might."

When crashes could be heard from the reception room, Harry was certain it was one of Dumbledore's men who had decided to breach Acallam. However, he was less certain who would be that foolish.

The senior counsel hastily joined him after having given the floo up as a lost cause. Letting his wand drop in his hand, he aimed loosely at the door prepared for anybody who would dare storm his office.

They did not have to wait long. Harry's question got answered less than a minute later when a feral Lupin stormed into the room wildly looking around. Behind the banging door, the unconscious secretary lay next to her desk clearly having tried to intercept the intruder and prevent the breach of Acallam.

Said intruder did not show any remorse or shame over the situation. Instead, upon spotting Harry, he immediately rushed closer ignoring the wands raised at him in warning. Lifting his hands, Lupin started speaking in a hushed agitated voice.

"Harry, listen to me. We need to leave immediately. Voldemort knows you're here and has sent a full battalion of his Death Eaters. They're laying in wait for you outside of this building and will ambush you as soon as you set a foot out."

"Dumbledore has sent me to get you to safety. But we need to leave now while the Death Eaters are still distracted by the aurors."

Looking beseechingly at him, Lupin held out his hand which Harry acquitted with a disbelieving stare. Did they really think he would be this stupid? This gullible? Did they not think he would find this situation weird? That this was definitely not a proper and acceptable way of dealing with it? Had they no respect for Acallam?

Sometimes Harry really wondered what the wizarding world had come to. Here he was, supposed national hero of Great Britain, and had to suffer through indignity after indignity. Instead of writing poems praising their hero, the British wizarding public rather compiled one scathing article after another in a national newspaper which was considered a leading publisher. Instead of providing him with a first class education befitting a member of the sacred 28 at Hogwarts, his ancestor had gone through a string of uneducated fools failing to teach even the basics of what magicks could truly accomplish. Instead of reveling in a culture so old and so deeply entangled into their life and magic, the magical community preferred to forget their roots and embrace the shallow customs of the muggle world.

And now it all came to this. To the ignorance of the old ways and their most sacred costumes. To the breach of Acallam, a tradition so old and steeped with magic that even Merlin himself bowed to it. And now this insignificant wizard, this person without note or lineage, dared to do what even the great Merlin would not dare?

Harry's respect for Dumbledore and his ilk sunk lower and lower. The more he came to know them and the longer he thought about all what happened to his ancestor, the more he became disgusted by them. They were the exact replica of the uneducated peasants his mother had always warned him about. They were the wrong crowd he should not associate with. He just had gotten the living proof of why not.

At this moment, his senior counsel loudly cleared his throat. Vibrating with fury, he put some of Harry's thoughts into words having the same misgivings in mind.

"How dare you?! This is a private client-lawyer meeting governed by Acallam! How dare you breach our most sacred custom?! You go to Azkaban for this! I'll see to that!"

Lupin just shot him an irritated glance before focusing back on Harry. Coming another step closer, he urged Harry again.

"We need to hurry, Harry! We have to leave now! We don't have time for this! Harry, you don't understand the danger you are in."

Harry lifted a brow at this.

"You'll find, Mr. Lupin, that I understand very well what is happening around me. I know that a full battalion of Death Eaters were sent by the Dark Lord to intercept me on my way out. However, I also know that they showed me more respect than you did. They respected my meeting with my senior counsel under Acallam while you decided my right to a protected colloquy to be irrelevant."

"Look, Harry, I understand that you are angry and we will have ample time to discuss your misgivings but now is not that time. We need to leave! Now!"

"Mr. Lupin, it seems that you don't understand the situation. I will not leave with you. I am entitled to a protected colloquy with my counsel and I will have it!"

Lupin's protest was interrupted by the arrival of two aurors. They must have followed the crashes and destruction left behind by the werewolf.

Now they entered the office through the damaged door that was just hanging by one hinge. Standing shoulder to shoulder with their wands drawn, they oversaw the scene.

One spoke up with a deep voice.

"What is happening here? Lower your wands at once!"

Immediately the three wizards complied and Harry's senior counsel moved to answer.

"I have a breach of Acallam to report, Senior Auror Dawlish. My private colloquy with my client was interrupted by this wizard who stormed my office and harmed my secretary."

The aurors turned as one on Lupin who grew quite red in the face.

"It is not as it seems! I ..."

Dawlish interrupted him with a harsh gesture effectively silencing the werewolf.

"Were you aware that Senior Counsel Lawmaker was holding a colloquy with a client protected by Acallam?"

"Yes, but ..."

"Were you aware that breaching Acallam, one of our most cherished traditions, carries a sentence of 10 years in Azkaban?"

"Yes, but ..."

"Rusmore, arrest that man and take his wand!"

Under the heavy protest of Lupin who tried to explain that he just had wanted to save Harry from the Death Eaters outside the building, Rusmore took his wand and put handcuffs around his wrists.

Dawlish was wrinkling his forehead upon hearing the disjoint ramblings of the werewolf. He scoffed and replied.

"Let's what Dumbledore will say in your defense then when we bring you in front of the Wizengamot for a breach of Acallam!"

His eyes briefly lingered on Harry before he looked back at senior counsel Lawmaker.

"I am not sure what your client is playing at but I would suggest you advise him well. We just had to break up a fight outside of this office. I would be very much displeased if I had to return to such a scene."

"We will take the werewolf with us to a ministry arrest cell where he will await his trial in front of the entire Wizengamot. As the plaintiffs, it is your right to appear - either as witness or fellow prosecutor."

"This seems to be a clear case of breach of Acallam. Nonetheless, I advise you to make use of your right to join the trial and give witness."

"Good day."

With another nod, the aurors left the office taking the still protesting Lupin with them.

An hour later saw Harry leisurely walking up the driveway to his house. Whistling slowly he contemplated that today could have not gone better for him. Both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore had suffered a major blow and were scrambling to save face with the ministry having been scolded like school children upon the fight in the alleys.

Even better, Dumbledore had lost one of his yes-man during the scramble to the ministry where he now had to explain why exactly he found a breach of Acallam acceptable. This breach of tradition would not go unnoticed in the Wizengamot and hopefully eliciting an outcry from its members.

If he played his cards right, he might be able to start building a strong faction of the more neutral minded lords and ladies. Uniting them in their desire to preserve the old way and their antipathy against Dumbledore, he would be on even grounds with the Dark Lord.

But that was all in the future. First, he would attend the trial with his senior counsel stirring up trouble for Dumbledore and making sure that cretin got what he deserved. He would also use the opportunity to play nice with the ministry and gouge the current playing field of politics. If he was lucky, he could begin reforming the alliances of House Potter.

Harry reached the front door of his home which immediately swung open upon his arrival. Gently stroking over the wood of the door frame, Harry stepped in. With a bang, the door shut behind me leaving Harry in the welcoming light of the entrance hall.

Harry laughed softly.

"So eager to have me back?"

Note: Some of you have complained that wealth is one of the few problems Harry doesn't have and that there is little sense in making Harry poor. However, I think that wars are costly. Even in the wizarding world, the war must have cost a fortune. That begs the question were the money came from. On the dark side, it was very likely paid by Malfoy and other old dark pureblooded families – the Blacks, Notts, Lestranges come to mind. But on the light side, there is considerable less funding available. That leaves the bill to a very small group of families – the Longbottoms, maybe the Dumbledores and, of course, the Potters. Having the most wealth in the vault, the Potters probably carried the majority of the costs for the light side. Upon their death, there was nobody left to rebuild the fortune. While all the other families had more than a decade to compensate for their losses, the Potters did not. As such, that now falls to Icarus.

Note 2: It came also up that Voldemort should be the rightful heir of the Peverell family, not Potter, as his line can be traced back to the second brother. That is true. However, as far as I am aware – J.K. Rowling changed the genealogical tree of some wizarding families at least once – Voldemort's relation comes through a female Peverell (his mother, his father was a muggle) whereas Harry's or Icarus comes from a male. Since it is custom that the inheritance goes to a male heir in the Peverell family, it makes Harry Lord Peverell, not Voldemort.


End file.
